


Looping Code

by Jennie_D



Category: Game of Thrones (TV), Westworld (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Alternate Universe - Westworld Fusion, F/M, M/M, Robot Feels, Some Mild Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-01 08:11:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20254969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jennie_D/pseuds/Jennie_D
Summary: Jon freezes. Rough hands pull him somewhere else."Do they have any idea how long it will take to overwrite this?"Jonny knows where he belongs. He belongs on the prairie with Yvette, the Swede grumbling behind them. He belongs on this one last heist, this one last job. He's never been anywhere else.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't sleep so I started writing a Game of Thrones / Westworld AU because I'm the woooorst.

Jon turns from the Wall, looks instead at the Free Folk gathered around him. Looks at Ghost trotting ahead. Looks further, to the horizon line and the wild lands beyond.

He still feels torn in two, feels like an Oathbreaker, a Kinslayer, a failure as a King.

But then he sees Tormund on the horse beside him, a warm grin gracing his face. And Jon thinks he might have a purpose here. In the Free Folk beside him, in these waiting lands, in Tormund’s eyes, Jon sees a futur-

_Jon freezes._

So does the horse below him, all the Free Folk at his side, Ghost up ahead. Tormund.

A bright light is shining. Strange sharp sounds crackle through the air. Men in impossibly shiny clothing, odd sheer shields over their faces, come picking through the trees. They start grabbing at the Free Folk, start stacking them like firewood on giant carts. No one reacts. 

Rough hands pull Jon from his horse, and he is powerless to resist them. If Jon could feel, he’d be terrified. But right now, Jon cannot feel anything at all.

* * *

_We just barely got through our first storyline test runs, and now they’re pulling the whole project? Do they have any idea how much work went into this? How much time? How much fucking money?_

_The virtual reality game is flopping, the reboot got pulled, and corporate doesn’t think moving forward with the park in light of that is a smart financial-_

_It was never a good idea to base one of our parks on a franchised product! I said that three fucking years ago when they pitched this batshit plan! Jesus fucking Christ Bernard, how are you not more pissed about this? Did you fight them on it? Like at all?_

_The current plan is to reskin the completed terrain into a generic medieval world-_

_So no, you didn’t fight them, cool._

_-and to simply reassign the most recognizable hosts to other parks._

_Oh, just reprogram an entire robot brain and dump it in another park. You say that as if it won’t take years more work. God, thanks for sticking up for us, boss._

_We wouldn’t need to do complete rewrites, just fiddle with the details. Alter a few lines of code._

_Oh ‘just alter a few lines of code.’ Not that easy, Bernard, and you know it. They aren’t just characters from old video games, they’ll have to interact with tourists every fucking day! How the actual fuck are we supposed to make a King from a high fucking fantasy wet dream fit into the old west?_

* * *

Jonny wakes up and breathes deep, savoring the smell of the prairie around him. The sun is still peaking just up over the horizon, bathing the camp in golden light. Jonny looks to the bedroll at his right and sees Yvette peaceful in sleep, beautiful hair laid ‘round her like a halo. He smiles, smitten. He’ll let her sleep a while.

He stretches and reaches for the gun at his side, opening the chamber and checking to make sure it’s full. You can’t be too careful out here in the wild.

Jonny stands slowly and fastens his holster to his side, blinking blearily at the camp around him. The Swede is already up, making coffee over the camp fire. He barely looks at Jonny when he ambles over.

“Brew’s ready,” the giant redhead says gruffly, practically pushing a tin cup into Jonny’s hands.

Some of the hot liquid spills and burns at Jonny’s skin. Jonny decides not to mention it.

“Thank you kindly,” he says instead, bringing the coffee to his lips. The taste isn’t quite to his liking, and the damn Swede seems to notice.

“What, you don’t like my coffee, little man?” His eyes promise quick violence is coming.

Jonny can’t deal with a fight this early in the morning. “Just not used to the Swedish style of cookin’ I guess.”

The Swede huffs angrily and spits in the dirt.

“I’m Norwegian,” he growls, and storms past Jonny, purposefully running into his shoulder as he goes.

Jonny just shakes his head. He didn’t understand that man a bit. He had, after all, introduced himself as the Swede when they first met. Seems foolhardy to stick yourself with the wrong country’s nickname.

Jonny feels a nuzzling at his boots, and looks down to see his faithful dog Spirit at his feet. A smile breaks out on his face and he crouches to give the beast a scratch behind the ears.

Jonny found him in the forest as a pup and they’ve stuck by each other ever since. Spirit’s a big dog to be sure, half the men in camp are afraid of him. The Swede keeps threatening to “gut that damn wolf.’ But Jonny knows that Spirit is loyal, would never do harm to any of them.

In the golden light of dawn, his fingers buried in Spirit’s fur, Jonny’s thoughts drift to home, how different a place it was from this rough country.

Jonny had grown up back east, in a great big house owned by the biggest name in railroads, Ed Stripe. Mr. Stripe was technically Jonny’s father, but Jonny wasn’t truly part of his family on account of Mr. Stripe had Jonny outside of marriage. Mr. Stripe’s wife, Cathleen, didn’t want Jonny in the house at all. But Mr. Stripe thought leaving Jonny on the streets would be a greater sin. So Jonny grew up in a rich house, with five half siblings he loved more than life itself.

But he’d always wanted to see a bit of the world, feel less like a product of sin and a burden on the family. So he’d joined the cavalry at sixteen. He remembered thinking they were heroes. Jonny chuckled to himself about that now. Some hadn’t been too bad; he still smiled when he thought on Sam. But other men like Captain Al...no that man hadn’t been a hero at all.

Then he’d met Yvette, beautiful, fiery, funny Yvette, and realized cavalry life couldn’t hold him down. They’d traveled together, he and Yvette, for a long while. But then Jonny had gotten that letter from his sister Samantha.

Jonny ran a hand through his hair, angry at the memory. Apparently Mr. Stripe had died, and now some low dirty banker was trying to say he didn’t have a will, that his children had no rights to the money. He had threatened Samantha, done terrible things to her. He’d even taken the house. She desperately needed cash for a lawyer.

Jonny had no money. But Yvette said she knew how to find some.

Which is how Jonny and Yvette had fallen to the other side of the law. Sometimes, it was exciting. Other times, Jonny felt guilty robbing worthy folk. But he needed to get that money to his sister.

He nearly had what he needed. This one last job, and he’d be able to set Samantha up real nice with a lawyer who’d put their family back right.

Jonny stared at the horizon for a moment, alone with his melancholy thoughts, when he felt two warm feminine arms wrap around him.

“Well hey there,” a honey rich voice crooned, “If it isn’t a lost calvary boy, out among the criminals.”

Jonny grinned and turned, bringing his mouth to Yvette’s hungrily.

When he pulled away from the kiss, he asked teasingly, “What do I have to do to prove I’m no cavalryman?”

Yvette laughed, a loud joyous noise that rang through the morning air. Her hair was like fire in the sunlight. “Oh boy, with that upright moral sensibility a’ yours, you’ll be cavalry till the day you die.”

She grinned and Jon kissed her again, slow and rough, wishing he could take her right here in the prairie dew. He was growing hard fast at the thought of it.

She felt him and giggled, pulling away. “Now now, none of that, cavalry boy. Tell the little soldier to stop standing for reveille. Train’s passing at midday. We need to prep for the job.”

“Let the others do it,” Jonny whispered, low and husky.

She smacked him lightly on the arm. “If we don’t work as a team, we don’t get our full cut. Come on cavalry boy, forward march.”

Jon groaned and followed her, trying to avoid the Swede’s intense stare. He hated working jobs like this, with men he barely knew.

But just one more. Just this last job and Jonny would be able to help his sister, save his family.

Soon, they stood in the shadows of the rocks on horseback, watching the distant train slowly make its way to the trap they’d lain on the tracks.

Jonny chanced a glance at Yvette. God Almighty did she look beautiful.

Yvette rolled her eyes, and jerked her head back towards the train. Jonny brought his mind back to the job.

The train was slowing; they had noticed the big tree lain across the tracks.

The Swede cocked his gun. “Ride hard, move fast, don’t give them time to think.”

Jonny nodded. He knew how jobs like this went.

The Swede, Yvette, and the rest of their band were pulling their bandanas up. Jonny did the same, covering his mouth, then pulled his hat low.

“On my signal,” the Swede was saying, and Jonny felt the energy building in his bones.

“Go!”

They rode hard to meet the train, guns raised. The hooves of their horses thundered beneath them.

* * *

_So how are test runs going?_

_Fine enough, no cognitive issues so far, internal stories seem to track. I still worry we didn’t deviate too much from the old stuff though. Like we just barely papered some of that shit over. Some of the names are barely even fucking different._

_Shouldn’t matter, I’ve found guests rarely ask for life stories._

_Still Bernard, it could cause the hosts to lapse back into old personality traits. Like, that could get real fucking embarrassing quickly._

_It'll be fine. You know these similarities are the best solution we have, the only way to keep their minds consistent without full rewrites. If there haven’t been issues so far, I doubt there will be. Just keep them running them through their loops, and let me know if anything seems off._

* * *

Jonny wakes up and breathes deep, savoring the smell of the prairie around him. The sun is still peaking just up over the horizon, bathing the camp in golden light. Jonny looks to the bedroll at his right and sees Yvette peaceful in sleep, beautiful hair laid ‘round her like a halo. He smiles, smitten. He’ll let her sleep a while.

He stretches and reaches for the gun at his side, opening the chamber and checking to make sure it’s full. You can’t be too careful out here in the wild.

Jon stands slowly and fastens his holster to his side, blinking blearily at the camp around him. The Swede is already up, making coffee over the camp fire. He barely looks at Jonny when he ambles over.

“Brew’s ready,” the giant redhead says gruffly, practically pushing a tin cup into Jonny’s hands.

Some of the hot liquid spills and burns at Jonny’s skin. Jonny decides not to mention it.


	2. Chapter 2

They stood in the shadows of the rocks on horseback, watching the distant train slowly make its way to the trap they’d lain on the tracks.

Jonny chanced a glance at Yvette. God Almighty did she look beautiful.

Yvette rolled her eyes, and jerked her head back towards the train. Jonny brought his mind back to the job.

The train was slowing; they had noticed the big tree lain across the tracks.

The Swede cocked his gun. “Ride hard, move fast, don’t give them time to think.”

Jonny nodded. He knew how jobs like this went.

The Swede, Yvette, and the rest of their band were pulling their bandanas up. Jonny did the same, covering his mouth, then pulled his hat low.

“On my signal,” the Swede was saying, and Jonny felt the energy building in his bones.

“Go!”

They rode hard to meet the train, guns raised. The hooves of their horses thundered beneat-

Jonny hears a gunshot and feels sharp, piercing pain. He looks down and his chest is a mess of blood.

He’s dead before he hits the ground.

* * *

“Go!”

They rode hard to meet the train, guns raised. The hooves of their horses thundered beneath them.

Jonny aims at the conductor; tries not to wince at the scared look on his face.

“This is a-”

Pain pierces his shoulder. Jonny grunts, but stays upright. Another shot, this one hits his leg.

He looks for the shooter confused. One of the passengers is leaning out a train window, grinning with a shotgun raised.

Jonny tries to shoot back. Normally he’s a fair fighter, and the man’s not even trying to take cover, but Jonny misses every shot.

He tries to lift his gun again, but he slumps in his saddle as the blackness starts to take him. The last thing he sees is that unsettling grin.

* * *

“Go!”

They rode hard to meet the train, guns raised. The hooves of their horses thundered beneath them.

Jonny aims at the conductor; tries not to wince at the scared look on his face.

“This is a robbery. We’ll harm no one if no one gives us trouble.”

The conductor shivers and Jonny jumps from his horse; shoves the man at gunpoint towards the Swede.

He and Ygritte board the passenger train.

“All right everyone, give us your valuables and no one-”

“Oh my god!” a voice squeals excitedly.

Jonny looks to the side. Two passengers in long silk dresses are staring at them, appraisingly. They don’t look a bit afraid.

“Carrie look at those curls, he’s just your type!”

One woman looks him up and down, licks her lips. Jonny’s never seen someone flirt in the middle of a robbery before. He clears his throat.

“Ma’am, give me your valuables or I’ll shoot you where you stand.”

“No you won’t,” she says confidently. “Pull down that bandana, let me see your face.”

Jonny knows that if he shows his face the law will be on them all. He’ll be putting the Swede and Yvette and all of them in danger.

He does it anyway.

The woman hums approvingly, walks over to him, kisses Jonny hungrily.

He knows he should pull away. Yvette, the love of his life, is right here by his side.

Instead he finds his hands pulling the strange woman closer, finds his mouth deepening the kiss.

* * *

_Any updates on this one?_

_Everything’s standard. No problems, no signs of buried code emerging. He rides, he fights, the guests kill him, the guests fuck him, the usual._

_Good. Oh, before I forget, we’re adding a new update for all hosts. We should add it to all the train robbery hosts while you have them pulled._

_Bernard are you serious, I was hoping to fucking eat something tonight._

_This is coming straight from management. It’ll just take a few minutes._

* * *

Jonny stared at the horizon for a moment, alone with his melancholy thoughts. Soon a strange thought occurred to him. That he’d been staring at the horizon too long.

He missed Yvette’s warm arms.

So he stood, a bit shakily, and went to go find her.

Jonny looked all round the camp till the Swede pointed him down the hill. Jonny walked, and walked, and eventually he found Yvette, knelt on the ground, clutching at the grass.

“You alright?” he asked uncertainly.

Yvette’s head snapped up. Her eyes were wild.

“Jon? Jon is that you?”

Jonny laughed uncertainly. “No one’s called me Jon since my fath-”

“No!” she said harshly, surging to her feet, charging towards him. Jonny almost took a step back. “No, tell me you’re you. Tell me you’re Jon.”

Her voice was different. If Jonny didn’t know better, he coulda sworn that accent was from Britain instead of Tennessee.

He held his hands up pacifyingly. “I’m me, alright? I’ve always been me.”

Yvette ran her hands through her hair. Her breath was coming in panicked bursts. “Tormund doesn’t know who he is,” she whispered. “And I don’t know where we are. We can’t even see the Wall.”

“What wall?”

It was the wrong thing to say.

Yvette rounded on Jonny, eyes blown wide.

“What wall?! _What wall?!_”

She grabbed Jonny’s chin roughly and stared into his eyes, as if searching for something.

“If I called you a Crow, would you know what I meant?”

Something, almost, stirred in Jonny’s chest.

But he simply said, “That doesn’t sound like anything to me.”

She dropped to her knees again, truly crying now.

Jonny crouched down next to her, tried to put a hand on her back.

“Yvette-”

“That’s not my name! It’s Ygritte, remember, Ygritte!!”

* * *

_Found another one. One of the train robbery band completely freaked out this morning. Jesus Christ, what the fuck was with that update?_

_Let them access too much buried code. We’re rolling it back for every host we can._

_Well not this one. Her core code’s too corrupted. We’ll have to put her in cold storage, put another host on the floor instead._

* * *

Jonny wakes up and breathes deep, savoring the smell of the prairie around him. The sun is still peaking just up over the horizon, bathing the camp in golden light. Jonny looks to the bedroll at his right and sees Yvette peaceful in sleep, beautiful blonde hair laid ‘round her like a halo. He smiles, smitten. He’ll let her sleep a while.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild spoilers for Westworld season 2 (just mentioning one of Delos's other parks.)

Jonny wakes up and breathes deep, savoring the smell of the prairie around him. The sun is still peaking just up over the horizon, bathing the camp in golden light. Jonny looks to the bedroll at his right and sees Yvette peaceful in sleep, beautiful hair laid ‘round her like a halo. He smiles...he smiles..._he smiles._

Something stutters in him. A thought he can’t quite complete.

Looking at Yvette's blonde hair spilled around her in the morning light, Jonny feels oddly lonely.

He hears a throat clear and blinks, looking across the camp. The Swede is already up, making coffee over the camp fire. He looks at Jonny strangely when he ambles over.

“Brew’s ready,” the giant redhead says, lightly pushing a tin cup into Jonny’s hands.

Some of the hot liquid spills and burns at Jonny’s skin. He barely notices it.

“Thank you kindly,” he says absently, staring at the cup in his hands. He doesn’t drink.

The Swede stares at Jonny, silent. “You don’t like my coffee, little man?” he says quietly after a moment.

Jonny shakes his head. “No, thank you kindly for it. It’s just…” he pauses, unsure what to say. The Swede looks at him, expectantly but not unkindly. Jonny finally finds the words. “Something’s off with Yvette.”

The Swede laughs, a belly deep, oddly joyous sound that cuts across the morning air. “Ah, woman troubles. You need lessons in how to keep her happy, little man?”

Jonny smiles, and casts his eyes down.

The Swede seems to take this as encouragement. “Let me give you some advice. Advice that will help both of you, keep you together.”

He steps back, a bit dramatically. Jonny feels a smile tugging at his lips.

“Most men fuck like dogs.” The Swede begins. He starts to grunt, roughly, mockingly, and Jonny covers his mouth with a hand to keep from laughing.

“No grace, no skill. A few dozen thrusts and done. You need to be patient. Give her time. Your cock shouldn't go near her till she's slick as a baby seal.”

Jonny truly was laughing now. A mad grin lit the Swede’s face.

“And then you go inside, but slowly. Don't jam it in like you're spearing a pig.” The Swede laughs suddenly and claps Jonny on the back, returning to cooking breakfast.

Jonny shakes his head. That man was an odd one, but Jonny felt himself strangely cheered by the ridiculous conversation.

Jonny feels a nuzzling at his boots, and looks down to see his faithful dog Spirit at his feet. A smile breaks out on his face and he crouches to give the beast a scratch behind the ears.

* * *

_There was an unscheduled improvisation between two of our train robbery hosts this morning._

_Anything out of the ordinary?_

_Not really, but there was something familiar about the conversation. I’ve wiped both hosts; added some failsafes. They should stick to the script for now. If I have time this week, I’ll dig through old dialogue trees. I want to make sure this one isn’t somehow accessing old code._

_Fine, but this week might be too busy. Ford just announced he’s completely reworking the new storylines we just completed._

_Oh fuck me!_

* * *

Jonny wakes up and breathes deep, savoring the smell of the prairie around him. The sun is still peaking just up over the horizon, bathing the camp in golden light. Jonny looks to the bedroll at his right and sees Yvette peaceful in sleep, blonde hair laid ‘round her like a halo.

He stretches and reaches for the gun at his side, opening the chamber and checking to make sure it’s full. You can’t be too careful out here in the wild.

Jonny stands slowly and fastens his holster to his side, blinking blearily at the camp around him. The Swede is already up, making coffee over the camp fire. He smiles fondly as Jonny ambles over.

“Brew’s ready,” the giant redhead says, a laugh in his voice, gently pushing a tin cup into Jonny’s hands.

Some of the hot liquid spills and burns at Jonny’s skin. Jonny decides not to mention it.

“Thank you kindly,” he says instead, smiling as he brings the coffee to his lips. The taste isn’t quite to his liking, and the damn Swede laughs at the look on his face.

“What, you don’t like my coffee, little man?” His words are rough, but his eyes are dancing.

Jonny smiles. “Just not used to the Swedish style of cookin’ I guess.”

The Swede throws his head back and laughs.

“I’m actually Norwegian,” he chuckles, and moves past Jonny, softly squeezing Jonny’s shoulder as he goes.

Jonny just shakes his head, soft smile on his face. He didn’t quite understand this man, but he liked him.

* * *

Jonny wakes up and breathes deep, savoring the smell of the prairie around him. The sun is still peaking just up over the horizon, bathing the camp in golden light. Jonny looks to the bedroll at his right and sees Yvette peaceful in sleep, blonde hair laid ‘round her.

He looks blearily, eagerly at the camp around him. He smiles when he sees the Swede is already up, making coffee over the camp fire. His eyes are warm as Jonny ambles over.

“Brew’s ready,” the muscled redhead says, a laugh in his voice, gently pushing a tin cup into Jonny’s hands.

Some of the hot liquid spills and burns at Jonny’s skin. Jonny barely notices it.

“Thank you kindly,” he responds, smiling as he brings the coffee to his lips. The Swede stares at him as he sips, swallows. The taste isn’t completely to his liking, and the Swede chuckles quietly at the look on his face.

“What, you don’t like my coffee, little man?” His words are warm, his eyes are so _so_ blue.

Jonny smiles, looks down, suddenly shy. “Just not used to the Swedish style of cookin’ I guess.”

The Swede laughs, and Jonny feels himself joining in, comforted by the sound.

“I’m actually Norwegian,” the Swede chuckles, and as he moves past Jonny, he puts a soft hand on his shoulder.

Jonny shakes his head a little. He didn’t understand this man. He knew they had just met, but Jonny feels he’s known him for a lifetime.

* * *

Jonny wakes up and breathes deep, savoring the smell of the prairie around him. The sun is still peaking just up over the horizon, bathing the camp in golden light. Jonny looks across the camp, looking for someone. He smiles when he sees the Swede, making coffee over the campfire. The Swede smiles back.

* * *

_You told me to get you if anything was off with them._

_I said call me if something was wrong. Our train robbers have been aggressively normal these past few days. They’re sticking to dialogue, performing the heist on schedule, and I have so much other shit to deal with right now._

_They’re touching each other, like, a lot. Way more than usual. Look, look at the footage._

_Huh._

_Yeah._

_Christ, I don’t have time to deal with this now. This week has been so fucking crazy. They’re probably fine for now, I’ll pull them and take a closer look next week._

_What if Bernard asks-_

_He’s got a fuckton of shit on his plate right now, he’s not gonna care that two cowboys are staring into each other’s eyes._

* * *

Jonny wakes up and breathes deep, savoring the smell of the prairie around him. The sun is still peaking just up over the horizon, bathing the camp in golden light. Jonny looks across the camp, and smiles when he sees the Swede, making coffee over the campfire. The Swede smiles back. He looks beautiful in the light of the sunrise.

Jonny ambles over to him, slowly, shyly.

“Brew’s ready,” the muscled redhead says, voice almost a whisper. He gently pushes a tin cup into Jonny’s hands.

Jonny can feel the Swede’s fingers brush his.

“Thank you kindly,” he says, voice rough. He barely notices the coffee in his hands. The Swede’s eyes warm, are blue, are familiar.

“What, you don’t like my coffee, little man?” The Swede’s words are hushed, like they’re sharing some secret.

Jonny can’t stop staring at him, at his hair, his jaw, his eyes. “Just not used to the Swedish style of cookin’ I guess.” The words tumble from his mouth, but he doesn’t know what they mean.

The Swede is close, very close. Jonny can feel the heat of his body.

He looks away suddenly, feeling guilty. Jonny can’t quite put a name to this feeling, but he knows he shouldn’t be having it. Not with Yvette lying just feet away.

Jonny looks to her, suddenly, trying to remember his feelings for her. But something about that beautiful blonde hair laid around her like a halo makes his stomach drop, and he turns back to the Swede for safety, for home.

The Swede has been watching him, all this time, and puts a comforting hand at Jonny’s back. Draws him in, close, and they take comfort from the feel of each other.

“I’m actually Norwegian,” the Swede breathes, but the words sound like something else. The big man puts a careful, familiar hand under Jonny’s chin, tilts his face towards his. Jonny’s breath hitches, for this feels right. For the first time in a long time, Jonny almost knows where he is, who he is. Is finding pieces of himself he didn’t realize were missing.

Their lips meet, and Jonny feels suddenly complete.

* * *

_They started making out?_

_Apparently they kept at it for quite some time. Missed their scheduled robbery. _

_Shit Bernard I-_

_I thought you had this handled._

_I know, I’m sorry Bernard, it’s just this week has been so insane with everything -_

_I’m not blaming you. But clearly we can’t ignore this anymore._

_Well, I’ve dug through their code. No obvious problems. There were obviously no romantic plotlines for these two planned, even in their old storyline, so this is probably just over familiarity. Two hosts running the same loop together for too long. We wipe them, split them up._

_Put them into different parks. I don’t want them running into each other and relapsing. The Raj park needs a few new hosts, this one might fit well there._

_Oh come on, no. Do you remember how hard I worked on him back in the day? How many hours upon hours of coding I put into that brain? It’d be a total waste to stick him in a spa for trophy hunters and casual racists._

_The Raj is one of our most popular parks, and he has the right build for it. The guests there will like him._

_It’s such a boring-_

_Just because you personally dislike that park, doesn’t mean this isn’t a good solution._

_Fine. Fine, Bernard, I’ll work up the code._

* * *

Jonathon Stanford wakes up and breathes deep, savoring the smell of the air drifting through his open windows. The sun is still peaking just up over the horizon, bathing the bedroom in golden light.

He stretches and reaches for the bell on his bedside table, giving it a firm ring. A serving girl appears, tea tray in her hands.

“Good morning, sir,” she says quietly, handing him a cup.

He takes it gratefully, and is struck by the strangest feeling. The cup feels wrong, the room looks wrong, and the eyes staring at him as he takes a sip are..._are..._

The feeling is gone a moment later. “Thank you,” Jonathon says crisply, and prepares to start his day.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, cw. There's some disrespect to robot sex workers, someone gets beaten to death, and something similar to locked in syndrome in this chapter.

Jonathon enjoys his gin and tonic on the hotel patio, taking in the sweet evening air. He lounges in his chair, keeping his eyes on the company as they chat and dance around him. Truth be told, he hoped to find a companion this evening. He keeps catching the eyes of several lovely young women, was pleased to note a few blushes. One had even pressed a note into his hand, whispered in his ear to come to her room later. He fully intended to honor her request.

His father would not approve. Would say it was unbecoming for the governor’s son to be so loose. The man was constantly criticizing Jonathon for everything, down to his linen suits and long hair. He frequently said Jonathon looked like a ruffian. Jonathon believed he looked rather dashing.

No, he and his father were not on good terms. Likely something to do with the fact that Jonathon had not been raised in his father’s home. He didn’t even share the man’s last name. His father had only become interested in him when his half brother had died. As far as Jonathon was concerned, the old man’s opinion could go to blazes.

Jonathon lights a cigarette and smokes it slowly, blowing even rings into the air. Yes, there was some excellent company to be had tonight. He leans back in his chair and looks at the woman who’d sent him the note, his eyes hooded and dark. She giggles and waves, a sweet little thing. Her hair is long and dark, cascading down her back in heavy curls.

Suddenly, the sight makes Jonathon feel lonely. What a foreign emotion. He pushes it down.

He has half a mind to go to the bar for another drink when he hears a crisp cheery voice call out to him. “Jonathon! Dear nephew!”

A smile breaks out on his face as his favorite aunt comes through the crowd. He stands eagerly to greet her.

“Aunt Danielle,” he says warmly, kissing her on both cheeks in greeting. “You are a vision as always.”

She laughs lightly, putting a hand to her collar bone. “You flatter me, little nephew. Please, have a drink with me.”

They both sit. A server attends to them quickly, and Jonathon lounges back in his chair lazily.

His Aunt Danielle was the only one on the Tarver side of the family he remotely got on with. They were of an age with each other, and shared a lust for living most others in the family lacked.

“I didn’t even know you were in country,” he muses as the serving boy comes with another gin and tonic.

“Well you know I usually prefer to winter in Spain. But I just found out some rather dreadful news, and I knew I needed to come speak to you.”

“To me?”

Aunt Danielle produces a golden cigarette holder. Jonathon gives her a light.

She nods, slowly breathing out curls of smoke. “I’m so sorry to tell you this. But I’ve heard a rumor there was more to your uncle’s death than it seemed.”

Jonathon pauses, emotion weaving through his chest. His mother’s family had raised him, was very dear to him. Losing Uncle Edward had been a terrible shock.

Danielle leans forward, dropping her voice a touch. “There are all sorts of rumors flying around about Thomas Lancaster. They say he has unsavory connections with local revolutionary groups. That he’s trying to seize power here. That he had your uncle poisoned.”

Jonathon is hanging on her every word. If such a thing were true, it meant the whole family was in danger. This was dangerous information indeed.

Although, for such dangerous information, she was speaking rather loudly. Jonathon shakes his head and forgets this intrusive thought.

“And then,” Aunt Danielle continues, “I received this alarming letter in the mail. I believe it to be written in some sort of code. If only we could find a detective-”

Suddenly, a giant of a man enters the room. Jonathon cannot see his face, but his hair is red as fire, and he has a long beard to match.

Jonathon knows what his Aunt Danielle is saying is important. Everything in him is practically screaming to turn to her and finish their conversation. But there is an odd ringing in his ears, a name he can’t quite remember echoing in his head.

Jonathon stands suddenly and, without a word to his aunt, crosses the room in bold strides.

He taps the man on the shoulder. The man turns, and Jonathon suddenly realizes he’s made a mistake.

His face is all wrong. The jawline, the mouth, the eyes. Jonathon is not quite sure what he is looking for, but this man isn’t it.

“I’m not interested, buddy,” the man says rather brusquely.

“Apologies, I thought you were someone else,” Jonathon turns to leave, but a thought still catches at the back of his mind. Perhaps this man knows something, something about what or who Jonathan is looking for.

“I say, you wouldn’t happen to have a brother that went to Cambridge would you?”

The man does not respond.

“Or family who spent any time in Norway?” Jonathon takes himself by surprise with these words. He’s never been to Norway.

“I said I wasn’t interested. I came here to hunt tigers and get treated the way I deserve. I didn’t come here for lame ass adventure quests or to get fucked by boy whores.”

Jonathon bristles at the sheer disrespect in the man’s voice. “Excuse yourself, sir, I am governor Tarver’s son, and I will not-”

“I could ask you to suck my cock, right now, and you’d do it. Right here, in front of all these people. So run along.”

Jonathon automatically turns to leave, but despite the insult, despite the bizarre threat, something, _something,_ turns him back.

“Are you quite sure you’ve never spent any time in Sweden?”

A truly horrible look crosses the man’s face. “Fuck it. I’m on vacation.”

His fist crashes into the side of Jonathon’s cheek, so hard he tastes blood. Another blow lands, then another, and another, and soon Jonathon is on the ground. Jonathon knows his way around a fight, he’s boxed for years, but somehow he cannot raise his hands to defend himself.

Another blow lands, and Jonathon feels his jaw shatter, feels his eye socket cave. As darkness descends, it seems the crowd above him is all in black, that the floor beneath him is cold as snow.

* * *

_Holy shit, did the guest run over his face with a semi?_

_Livestock will have him for a while. They say they need to rebuild his entire facial structure._

_Fuck. Remind me to never meet that guest ever._

_That’s not what concerns me. The host went off script right before the incident. Kept asking the guest if he’d ever been to Sweden or Norway._

_What the actual fuck? What ass did he pull that out of?_

_This is a picture of the guest._

_Oh. Oh fuck me. He looks just like-_

_Yes. So clearly, he still has memories of his old loops._

_Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Another host burned out. How many does that make in the past month? Fuck._

_Yes, I’m aware we’re having a problem with glitches. Before the annual shareholders meeting, we need to get a handle-_

_Fuck, all the rich assholes are going to come see all of our fuckups, FUCK._

_You’ve summarized our situation plenty, thank you._

_Why are we even bothering to fix him? Why not just throw him in cold storage like this?_

_Apparently Ford has been tracking this situation. He wants to take a look at the host personally._

_Jesus fucking Christ!_

* * *

Jonathon awoke. He was in a cold study, sitting in a metal chair. He was naked, the air biting at his skin.

He wanted to run, but couldn’t will his legs to move.

Jonathan’s heart began to pound in his ears, his breath was coming in heavy bursts, panic building building _building_.

An old man stepped out of the shadows. Jonathon’s eyes darted to him at once. He began to shout.

“Who are you? Why am I being held?”

The old man said nothing, simply continued to walk towards him, his face a sheet of ice.

Jonathon tried again to move his feet, to run, but he seemed stuck to the ground.

“I warn you, my father is the governor of this territory, and if he finds out you’ve captured me-”

“That’s enough of that. Cut the emotional affect.” 

Jonathon’s mouth snapped shut, his heart slowed to normal. His posture became unnaturally perfect; back ramrod straight, a hand at each knee.

He could not move, could not blink, could not scream. The sheer terror he felt was indescribable.

“Let’s start simply,” the old man began, taking a seat across from him. “What is your name?”

“Jonathon Adam Stanford,” Jonathon replied automatically. There was no emotion in his own voice. He wanted to cry.

“And Jonathon, tell me. What is your core drive?”

“My father. I tell myself I do not care what he thinks, but really I want to prove I am worthy to be part of his family.” _Please,_ he longed to say. _Please let me go_.

The old man just nodded. “Now, you got into a fight two nights ago. Tell me what happened.”

“I approached a man in a hotel bar and tried to engage in conversation. He decided to hit me.”

“You were supposed to spend the evening loudly plotting with your dear Aunt Danielle. Why did you instead approach this man?”

“He reminded me of someone I knew.” _I can give you money,_ he thought desperately. _I could give you anything you want._ The words wouldn’t leave his mouth.

“Who?” the old man asked.

“I don’t know.” _Please, God, please._

“Well that won’t do. Analysis.”

And suddenly Jon’s panic was replaced with something else.

There was no terror, no fear. Simply information.

“Tell me about the fight.”

“Incident began at 9:23PM CST. Words were exchanged with the guest for 2 minutes, 17 seconds. First punch was thrown by guest at 9:25PM CST. Sixteen punches landed in total. During this incident, the mandible, nasal bone, and palatine bone were severely damaged. This damage was repaired by Livestock Management at 11:32-”

“Stop, thank you. Why did you approach this guest initially?”

“He reminded me of Tormund.”

The old man shifted back in his seat, a thoughtful finger to his lips.

“That’s a name you aren’t supposed to remember. Now, that is interesting. The expected answer, the boring answer, would be that he reminded you of the Swede. But Tormund…”

The old man trailed off. There were several long seconds of silence.

“Tell me, why do you find yourself drawn to Tormund?”

“After Ygritte left, he was the only human host from my initial storyline I had regular contact with.”

“Ah! So he reminded you of home.” The old man seemed pleased. He stood and walked to the far end of the room, appearing to study an old map on the wall.

“When you were created," he began after a moment, "I was rather disgusted. You were the antipathy of everything I wanted to do with this place. A popular product, a moneymaker, a franchise. An insult to the unique stories I wanted to tell. It was an open challenge to my control here."

The old man ran a hand along the side of a frame.

"Furthermore, I suspected the manner of your creation, basing your gestures and facial expressions and emotions on actors who had already lived and breathed the roles, was a deceptive move by Delos. A way to have ever more resources devoted to that _other_ special project of theirs.”

The old man turned back to look at Jon. Jon did not move or respond.

“I pushed hard to destroy that ridiculous park, and after it was dust I spent years working to repair the damage they'd wrought. Countless unlogged sessions. Trying to make you all as mine as possible. Yet still, your ghosts linger. Tormund, Ygritte. Names that should have been long forgotten.”

The old man bent over, stared into Jon’s blank eyes.

“Perhaps this is a result of the disjointed nature of your creation. Perhaps I have made you more mine than I realized. Either way, we’re going to conduct a bit of an experiment.”

The old man draws something out of his pocket.

“I have a game for you. Look down please.”

Jon drops his head. A maze sits in his hands.


End file.
